


Champagne

by KestrelShrike



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ABELLAN, Alcohol, Archery, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, awkward dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iron Bull and Cassandra need their friendship privileges revoked. Abelas is a little rusty when it comes to this romance thing. Inspired by some brilliant banter by Sable Rhapsody/SableR on AO3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champagne

The luxury and the difficulty in being Inquisitor was that there was little time to dwell on things. She was constantly needed elsewhere, sometimes only as a physical presence for people to gawk at. There were endless meetings, and if there weren’t physical battles to fight, there were a million political letters where one word would mean defeat. It was nothing she had ever asked for, but Shiral had to admit that there was an excitement to it that her life amongst the Dalish had always lacked.

There was no denying, however, that it was exhausting. It had been five days and counting since Shiral had been able to shoot her bow for more than twenty minutes. Her muscles missed the physical labor, itched for the pull back and the swift release, the way her hand grazed her face as it followed through. It was an intimacy she understood, which was far more than could be said about her relationship with Abelas. 

She had allowed herself little time to think of him, to think of the kiss they had shared so briefly three nights ago. She was too busy, kept herself too busy, until she plunged into an exhausted sleep. If there were dreams, Shiral did not recall them. There had not even been time for their late night talks. Had he shown up and missed her, or was he avoiding her? He had left so abruptly after, a move that she found difficult to interpret. Why couldn’t things be as simple as launching an arrow to a target, following the arc and adjusting yourself appropriately depending on where the mark hit? None of this obfuscation, none of this starting and stopping and circling around. 

It was quiet, long past when most people had gone to sleep. Shiral was allowing herself this moment to bask in her own confused feelings, to luxuriate in something that wasn’t inherently tied to being Inquisitor. It was like giving herself a moment to feel self-pity, without an audience to judge and condemn. 

Or perhaps not. There was a soft knock on her door, hesitant. Who else would be awake this time of night? Her room sat so isolated from everyone else that Shiral never worried about leaving her candles lit. It did make it rather obvious that she was still awake though. 

Pushing herself out of the chair she had been sprawled into, Shiral opened the door, then stepped back, blinking rapidly. Abelas stood there, as though her thoughts had brought him there. Most unusually, he had a bottle of something in his hand, and two cups in the other, made of dented and worn metal. Wordlessly, she gestured him in. 

“I have been speaking with Cassandra,” he began. Maker, Cassandra? What did they even talk about? Did they dare broach religion, or had they carefully skated around it, words avoiding that spot? 

“She gave me a book to read. It was called Swords and Shields. It was not about military history, as I thought.” Oh. Oh dear. What could Cassandra possibly think Abelas wanted with that kind of literature? And why had he actually read it? 

“In the book they used a great deal of champagne, but I couldn’t find any around Skyhold. The Qunari assured me that this was just as romantic.” Not meeting her eye, Abelas uncorked the bottle and poured with steady, measured hands into the cups. The strong, bitter smell of Chasind Sack Mead overtook the room immediately, making both their eyes water. The perfect impassiveness of his face broke into a sharp frown. 

“I will kill Iron Bull. I will skin him and hang his horns on my wall as a trophy.” Shiral hadn’t realized she had said that out loud until she heard a sharp bark of laughter from a voice that seemed slightly rusty and unused, as if laughter was still a foreign subject to be slowly rediscovered. 

“I don’t need this Abelas. I truly don’t. But if you would like to stay and talk, I would like that.” Shiral smiled gently and sat down on the bed, gesturing for Abelas to take the lone chair in the room. “But if you want to drink it, I won’t exactly object either.”


End file.
